


I Won't See You Tomorrow

by xxcentaurus



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Tragedy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 11:29:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11668227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxcentaurus/pseuds/xxcentaurus
Summary: They say John Laurens was at his side when he died.





	I Won't See You Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> My [Tumblr](http://xxcentaurus.tumblr.com)
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

The humid New York air clung to him as he sprinted through the streets; it blew softly against his skin, coaxing droplets of sweat to drip down his forehead and back. John's lungs seemed to tighten, closing from the strenuous exertion, begging him to stop—or at the very least slow down. His chest protested, as did his muscles as he pushed himself forward, but somehow he managed to continue.

"It can't be true." He hissed under his breath.

The twelfth of July. It should have just been an ordinary day—no it _was_ just an ordinary day. John told himself it was, because rumours weren't always true, because men told lies religiously—because Alexander would have told him if he planned to duel in New Jersey. John was the best friend he had, surely a duel with Aaron burr would be pressing enough to mention.

It wasn't true.

Yet regardless of how quickly he ran, John couldn't escape the fear that pumped through his veins, nor could he hide from the pinpricks of worry, that crawled across his skin. They said he was taken back to a friend's house after the duel, and John convinced himself he was only headed there to confirm his suspicions—that the rumours flooding the streets were _nothing_ more than that.

Upon arriving at the esteemed banker's front door, he doubled over, his hands shaking against his thighs, his breath short and laboured, he looked up at the tall door and wondered what he was even doing. He was uninvited, more than likely unwanted, but somehow his anxious determination diffused any sort of social etiquette. It begged him to acknowledge the possibilities, the ones John was desperate to push to the back of his mind.

But when he allowed himself to think truthfully, he wondered if he really believed it was made up, or if the heavy anxiety in his stomach, and erratic heartbeat pounding through his chest, came from something other than his physical exertion. Perhaps he was afraid because surely, it wasn't as impossible as he wanted to foolishly believe.

John wanted to turn back, because living in ignorance and denial didn't sound too terrible in that moment. A part of him didn't want to know, but when the door swung open, and Eliza beckoned him inside, he realized he'd have to face reality.

* * *

"Alex?" He entered the room cautiously.

Suddenly the burning in his lungs was irrelevant. The sticky sweat perspiring across his skin was hardly a nuisance. His footsteps were light, as he willed himself to approach. It was almost ironic; he feared the truth, yet he had wanted it badly enough to sprint through the streets of New York.

"J-John, you came to see me—"

"So it's true then, Burr challenged you to a duel?" He crossed his arms, standing over Alexander. He found himself biting the inside of his lip, as he fiddled with the sleeve of his jacket. "But obviously you're okay, you are, right?"

His stomach churned, as it spread crippling anxiety throughout his body. Alexander's eyes were so unfocused, and there was a sharp furrow between his brows. His skin was pale, and his movements, slow and strained. John could hardly look at him; it pained him. It coaxed him to scream out in frustration, to curse the gods for allowing something so terrible to happen. Because John loved Alexander, and he couldn't bare to see him so vulnerable, let alone acknowledge the thought of _losing_ him.

"You're fine, I know it. You have to be." John sighed heavily; his arms dropped to his sides, but he kept his fists clenched. "Goddammit Alex, say something would you?"

"I won't lie to you." Alexander spoke quietly, his voice lacking it's usual confidence and strength.

John carefully sat on the edge of the bed, staring down at his hands as they shook uncontrollably in his lap. He felt liquid drip down onto his forearms, and it took him a moment to realize he was crying. He inhaled sharply, trying to blink away the tears. His dark lashes brushed his cheeks, and he let out a quiet sob. Alexander was going to die wasn't he? And there was nothing he could do about it.

"Please don't cry, I'm not worth your tears."

John couldn't bring himself to face Alexander when he spoke; he pretended to be interested in one of the golden buttons on his jacket, fidgeting with it, and squeezing it between his fingers. He sniffled, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. The coarse fabric soaked up the wetness; it was rough against his face, irritating the sensitive skin around his eyes.

John sighed shakily; his throat was tight, constricted, as dread coiled around him. He inhaled, desperately dragging air into his lungs. Finally, he willed himself to turn, forcing himself to look at Alexander.

"A-Alex," he paused for a moment, trying to compose himself. Alexander didn't want him to cry. He should at least attempt to fulfill his request, regardless of how impossible it felt. "D-Don't leave me."

John carefully leaned closer, shamelessly connecting their foreheads, and threading his fingers through Alexander's messy hair. A weak sob escaped his lips, and he couldn't stop the onslaught of tears that danced across his lashes, and slid down his cheeks.

"I-I'm sorry, I don't think I can do that."

"I love you."

"I love you too John."

Saying goodbye was already difficult on it's own. John wouldn't forget the dread that pooled in his stomach at times, when they'd go their separate ways, and when he knew he wouldn't see Alexander for weeks or even months on end. Yet regardless, after each goodbye he was left feeling satisfied, smiling, and looking forward to the next time they'd see each other.

Today was entirely different, and as the sheer gravity of the situation hit him, John couldn't feel anything but pain. It coursed through him like waves, never letting up, and gaining power and strength as the seconds ticked by. A frustrated sigh pushed up through his throat, and his hands shook—they had never really stopped shaking.

"You can't do this to me." His voice was low, and he knew if he tried to speak any louder, he'd lose the fragile composure he'd barely managed to achieve. "Don't do this to me, _goddammit_ , Alex, please."

He felt Alexander's hand on his own, so he slowly pulled it away from his head, letting his dark hair fall back softly on the pillow. John clumsily pushed his fingers between Alexander's, holding his hand tightly.

"John, I-I'm sorry."

John's voice was hoarse and terribly shaky; desperation laced his words, clinging to the inside of his throat, almost suffocating him. "No, that's not enough, you can't just apologize, you _can't_ just leave me, I won't allow it!" Tears ran freely down his cheeks, dripping down his chin, and landing on Alexander's cheek.

"My ribs are shattered, there's nothing I-I can do."

John's vision was blurred; he blinked, and violently wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his jacket, desperate to see clearly. This was the last time he'd see Alexander; there was no denying it anymore, and John wanted to memorize him. He never wanted to forget the way his eyes would light up, soft hazel glowing with determination. Or more simple things, like his sturdy jawline, the gentle curves of his cheekbones, or just the feeling of running his fingers through his soft hair, the feeling of being close to him.

But some things couldn't be salvaged in this moment, because Alexander's eyes were tired, rimmed with darkness, and no matter how hard he searched, John couldn't seem to find that light. He could clearly remember it however, a million years ago, when he proudly proclaimed he would never throw away his shot.

But yesterday, he must have.

And today, he would pay the consequences.

John was at his bedside, their hands linked, and his forehead pushed gently against Alexander's, when he died. He wasn't sure of the exact time or moment, because after a while they drifted into peaceful silence, and only when Alexander's chest ceased to rise, and the quiet hum of his breathing faded out, did John realize.

And then that silence was destroyed, beaten down by John's defeated sobs, his cries of frustration, and his quiet muttering.

"Please not yet, please give me more time, I just need a minute, just enough to _say_ it one last time."

He stood up, letting his arms drop by his sides. He couldn't help but drop his gaze as well, staring at the wooden floor boards as he spoke, fully aware that no one could hear him.

"I love you Alexander."

* * *

As John sat on the front porch, his sweaty palms pressed against his thighs, he wondered if life without Alexander was even possible. His eyes were almost glazed, as he mindlessly watched the horizon, seeing, but not really looking. The city was draped in darkness; smoky violet clouds suffocated the sky, leaving the night starless and the air heavy. John chewed on the inside of his lip, filling his mouth with a dull coppery taste.

It had to be, because there was life before him, and as entwined as their lives were, John's didn't end with Alexander's.

Even if it felt as though it had.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, please feel free to let me know what you think!


End file.
